


alright

by Erulissë (NanaAdder)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanaAdder/pseuds/Eruliss%C3%AB
Summary: No matter what happened, it would always be alright...A rundown of things from Aredhel leaving Gondolin until her death.Aredhel and Eol are not a happy couple





	alright

She told herself it was alright...

It was just a trip, a little thing no one would blame her for. An indulgence which she rarely got these days, locked up for a hundred years behind the strongholds of Gondolin. She wasn't born for a sedentary, to be in one location all her days, but she had sacrificed much for Turgon, and she was willing to stay there at his request. For a year...then two...then five...then ten...then twenty... before she'd known it half a century had passed and was flying to its end. She wanted to see the sights beyond the mountains, to live freer, breathe deeper. But she was caged, locked up within the walls of Gondolin ever high.

But it would be alright.

She had a plan, to leave under the guise of seeing her father. Turgon could not refuse such a request. She lied for it, threatened when the lying stopped working. She had to get out, to feel the wind upon her face, the gallop of her horse across a meadow under the shining of Ariëns vessel. And so she did, escorts beside her, her brothers hold, protective--rather, overly so.

She would be alright.

There was no doubt about it as they tried to enter Doriath and were refused. They could manage their way to Himlad, it wouldn't be a problem. The fogs near the forest were nothing they couldn't handle, they had crossed Helcaraxë, and a little fog never hurt anybody. They'd come to their journeys end with a few stories along the way, laughing on how Ecthelions horse spooked and threw him unceremoniously into Galdor, and how Glorfindel nearly hugged a bear thinking it was Egalmoth.

She made it there alright.

So they weren't all together when she crossed the threshold of Himlad. They knew their way to Gondolin, and she could always send a message on where she was. Celegorm would be overjoyed to see her, she was fairly certain, though he was long about coming back. She didn't like staying still anymore, a hundred years had been more than Enough for that. And so she set out... just a little ways... nothing too far. Nothing that would be dangerous.

She would be alright.

The forest wasn't that big was it? Surely she'd come out the other side in a day or two, though the plants she passed looked familiar, and her horse had bolted the first day she'd stepped foot in the place. Something was certainly off, but was a huntress of Oromë, dangerous locales weren't frightening to her. She made her fire, kept her watch, and slept where she'd found a lovely pool,the moonlight shining overhead in the small clearing. Tomorrow she would head in one direction, what a laugh it would be with her cousins when she returned.

Perhaps it was better than alright...

She hadn't thought the woods inhabited, but the appearance of their lord that morning set her both at ease and yet on edge. He welcomed her warmly, though his eyes showed a coldness that unnerved her. He said his name was Eöl and that Nan Elmoth was his domain. She apologized for trespassing, and asked if she might be shown what secret paths the forest held so she might be on her way. He offered her instead a place to sleep for the night, a warm dinner, and the promise that he would lead her away in the morning. She agreed.

She hoped she'd be alright.

A night had passed and then a fortnight when she inquired when he'd lead her out. He'd answered that he hoped she'd stay, he'd grown fond of her he said, and wished to marry her if she would have him. She declined, finding the concept less than appealing. What did she know of him at any rate? He scorned the company of others outside the forest, and spoke ill of her kin. In all she had no interest in him, and asked again when he might lead her out. He said the road was muddy from a night of rain before, and when it cleared he would.

Another week passed, and her agitation grew. Each night he asked her to be his wife, and each night she'd refused him boldly. The last, she'd hotly told him she had no desire for him, and that she would leave with or without his guidance. He apologized and told her the following day he would lead her out at last, offering her a glass of wine in friendly parting. She took it, worried later by his smile which seemed more feral than usual went to bed.

Believing all would be alright.

The creak of her door was soft but unmistakable, though she felt as if she couldn't move. Sluggishness settled in her very being. The intruder closed the door, crossing the distance between it and her bed, hands turning her onto her back. It was him, her host, a spark in his eyes of madness which sent fear throbbing through her, he shushed whatever sound came out of her mouth as if she was a babe. Whatever words came out in explanation, they were lost upon her ears as she helplessly endured him forcing himself upon her. Tears leaked from her eyes in pain and shame, and in a twisted gentleness he kissed them all away, muttering on how he would not her go. She was his, he told her, taking her more than once, she was his forever.

All the while her dagger had lay beneath her pillow.

She would be alright...

She had to be. Her belly swollen with child, a child she had not wanted or expected. Her husband, as he called himself, was thrilled at the prospect of his babe within her womb. He treated her kindly, causing her to question if mayhap some lapse of judgement had caused his actions which brought them together. He was one with a broken mind, and on some level she wished to help him. He was capable of kindness was he not? Did that not contradict the cruelty he sometimes displayed? The way he'd forced himself between her legs had perhaps been in desperation. Besides, by the end of it she'd been too confused. She had let him, after all, had she not? She didn't fight him... even if it was due to that sluggishness... she didn't fight him.

Maybe she'd wanted it, just like he said.

Perhaps it was alright after all.

...at least that's what she told herself as she shielded her five year old son from his wrath. It was not the boys fault but hers, she knew her husbands rule and had blatantly disregarded it. Her kin were a topic never spoken, and for Lomion to suddenly call her "Ammë" instead of "Naneth" had driven Eöl to a fury she'd never seen. She should have known better, that was it, if she'd been more careful then her son would not be crying behind her, begging for his father to stop, little hands tugging at Eöls tunic. It did no good.

It was her fault he was seeing this, she would never forgive herself for this. Or allow it to happen again.

He'd be alright...

He would, she promised herself, watching as Eöl took him far away. He told her it was time to train the boy his craft, and that involved dealings with dwarves and other beings. Her heart broke. She'd never been parted from him before, she didn't want to be. Perhaps it was her punishment, she'd asked if she might visit her brother, just once, to let him meet Lomion... Eol was less than pleased with the idea. She was sporting bruises in fresh places for it, glamours hiding them from her son before he left. He never liked to see her hurt. He never would. No scar or ugly mark would be shown before his face.

To him, she would always be alright.

At least that's what she thought. It began when he asked why she tried to hide a particularly nasty burn from Eöl striking her across the face with a hot iron. For the first time she understood why her husband had named him 'sharp glance'. As it turned out he'd known all the time, and wondered why she acted as if everything was fine when she'd be bruised and cut. It was such a simple question, asked as if he were inquiring how to spell a difficult word. No judgement. No anger. He truly was nothing like his father.

It was then the truth unfurled like a black bird beating it's wings, and as gently as she could she explained that she did it to protect him. Eöl was his father, a boy should never hate his father. She told him there was something in Eöl that must be hidden deep within, for in moments she thought there was a gentleness... he never touched his son. Lómion replied to her that he had always known his father never touched him because she always drew his wrath away. 'It was not right' he told her in return, and she shushed him with a soft finger to his lips. A broken but sincere smile upon her mouth.

As long as he was alright, she would be too.

She was a daughter of Fingolfin, a princess of the Nõldor, a huntress of Oromë, a commander of her father's forces. But watching as Eöl left bruises upon Lómions skin was agonizing to bear. He had wandered off that morning, and did not return til late, saying he had gotten lost. Eöl had flown at him in a fury, cursing him and accusing that he was trying to leave the forest. This time she could not protect him. She told herself Eöl was worried, that was why he was so angry. Lómion could have gotten killed by one of the many beasts who lurked beneath the shadowed trees.

And yet... protectiveness welled up. She wanted to intervene more, to stop the blows from raining down upon her son. She cried, and begged, and pleaded for her husband to end the torture, until at last she grasped his sword and placed it to his neck. Her hands shook, trembling with the knowledge that by distracting him she would turn the focus to herself. She didn't mind. It would stop the pain for him. Eöls gaze turned slowly to her, and with a soft command Lómion made his escape.

What followed after left her injured for weeks to come. But it had been her fault for giving him her wandering spirit. It was the least she could do.

She would gladly take what he could not, she would be alright.

It wouldn't be until another thirty years passed that something altered. Things were quieter now, beatings less, she thought that maybe things had improved to a sustainable state. Lómion said little to nothing concerning his father's previous behavior, and often she would look for him and find him missing. Eöl had finally given him more freedom to be in the forest without repurcussions, at last it seemed he'd managed to change Lómions ways, taught him everything he knew of enchantments. For the first time Eöl seemed proud of him, and Aredhel was grateful to see it.

At times they seemed more like a family. But for the first time she felt as if Lómion was slipping away from her. Just once she wished for days when it was him and her, but though he sat beside her, and spoke with her as always... there was something in his heart she could not see. Something of his father in him. Something that frightened her.

She just hoped he'd be alright.

'We're leaving' Lómion declared. It had not been long since Eöl had gone off alone, trusting that Aredhel was no longer a flight risk, and that Lómion would not leave her. The look she gave him was confusion, but his eyes spoke his decision--there was a cold fire in them as he took her hand and knelt before her, looking older than his mere eighty years. She argued they could not, his father's power of the forest was too strong, they could never leave, she'd tried. Many times. She was tired now, too tired to try again. They had been there so long, where would they go? His father would not like it...

But he reminded her that he no longer cared for his father's desires. Not long before he had estranged himself from Eöl, being old enough now to have expressed a desire to see his mother's kin. Eöl had rebuffed him, and when he had gone to Nogrod, Lómion refused to follow. Now, and only now, she realized why.

'What hope is there in this wood for you or me? Here we are in bondage. I have learned all my father has to teach me...'

He then told her of his plan, for them to go to Gondolin together. A different kind of hope grew in her heart as she listened, pride swelling as he told her of his preparations and desires. At length, with tears in her eyes, she agreed.

And the first time in a hundred years she believed there would be a real truth in her thought that they would be alright.

The gates of Gondolin towered over their heads, imposing and comforting all at once. Finally, she was home. The sound of Ecthelions voice sending a feeling of safety she hadn't felt in a long time, the sight of him staring at her in shock nearly prompting her to leap into his arms in relief. A friend at last, one who she thought she may never see again, one of many she wanted desperately to see.

But she didn't. She was not the same elleth she was when she'd last seen him. When he wrapped his arms around her with an exclamation of joy, she flinched at first. He pulled away in confusion, she offered him a smile.

With a smile she told him it was alright.

'We cannot stay...' the words echoed in her mind as she stared at the glowing fireplace. She'd been so happy to be home, so happy to have rest, to feel safe, that the warning of her son so abruptly had sent her reeling back to hopelessness. She knew what he meant, for though they'd misdirected Eöl to Curufin and Celegorm, it was only a matter of time before he realized his mistake and came looking for Gondolin. Perhaps they shouldn't have come here, instead going to Fingon or her father... Turgon was the safest, but something settled in her fëa in warning.

She was not safe here.

Leaving her room, she settled on the balcony, the dread digging its way into her newfound peace. She felt it shredding, a darkness swallowing it piece by piece as she realized they would have to leave. Perhaps Lómion was wrong... perhaps he wouldn't find them...

Weeping with a last glimmer of hope, she clung tightly to the belief they'd be alright.

But it was all in vain.

The messenger came from the gate with words that stopped her heart for a moment. Eöl had come, he stood now at the gate demanding she and Lómion be brought to him. Every thread of her being screamed and wept in frustration, realizing now that she had lied herself into danger. If she'd left when Lómion had warned her, they'd have been safe, on the way to somewhere else. But now they were here... and so was he.

She instructed the messenger to have him brought before her brother. Lómion met her fearful gaze with a calm but resigned one. She told him it was for the best. They had to face him at some point, and here he could not harm them. They could stand tall in her brothers court, unafraid of what might come.

'They'd be alright' she told him. 'They'd be alright.' ... he didn't believe her.

Turgon greeted him too warmly for her liking, though she realized quickly enough that was likely her own fault. In some desire to keep things simple for now she'd been far too vague, and Turgon likely thought better of her husband than he should. Across the room, Lómions face was impassive, though his eyes seethed in anger that he shot toward his father without restraint. Beside him stood Glorfindel, her cousin having all but taken the young elfling under his wing.

She was grateful. His large hand on Lómions shoulder was not shrugged off as Eöls often was. It made her happy to see it.

But there was a dark cloud in the form of Eöl, hissing and cursing in utter fury at the denial of him claiming her and her son to drag them back to the shadows of Nan Elmoth. Turgon refused, and she breathed in relief, the offer for him to stay or be executed something she almost hoped he'd try and fight on. It was as if some part of her wished he'd do something that would cause Turgon to take drastic action. Anything to free them. Anything.

...but what happened was not what she expected or thought of.

A shout of furious claim rang through the hall, and before she knew it there was a javelin in his hand, and there was a sudden clarity in mind as she knew exactly what would follow. He could kill her, she wouldn't mind, and she half expected it... but him. Her son. The reason she had not faded all those years ago. To lose him would be the true death.

And it was him who Eöl aimed for.

She screamed, crossing the white floor between where she stood and where Lómion was, no time to move him, for even a scratch would kill him. She knew what Eöl tipped his weapons in, the poisons he concocted for the purpose of a tortuous death. A vile death. She could not let Lómion endure that. It would kill her if he did.

The blade pierced her breast, and she grunted, red blood staining her white dress for the last time. She gasped,pain spreading through her chest as she fell back, Glorfindel catching her and cradling her close as Lómion screamed her name in panic.

He was scared, she could see it in his eyes. But he was alright. That's all that mattered now...he was alright.

Lying on her deathbed, Aredhel thought it all through. There was no way to save her, and Eöl refused to give the antidote for the poison. Lómion had stayed by her side, the poor child at a loss of what to do. Idril tried her best, her poor niece wearing a look of defeat. It reminded her of when she watched her sister-in-law drown beneath the ice of Helcäraxe... Idril had worn the same look. Hopelessness.

Her brother wore a similar look, along with every lord who came by to pay his respects. Ecthelion had come in last, knuckles skinned from something she didn't ask. He begged her forgiveness for having lost her... for having let him in... for not being close enough... for missing the javelin. She forgave him freely. Hoping he would not blame himself too much. He stayed beside her, refusing to leave.

She burned, fever rising, pain flaring and leaving her weak. The poison tore through her body at a devastating speed, and she breathed heavily just to survive. It was torture. Every breath felt as if it scraped along her throat, knives clawing her throat as she coughed. Illness was a curse of mortality... but this... this... her eyes closed, the sound of Lómions soft crying in her ears. He was still an elfling. Her fingers stroked his curly hair gently.

As her world faded into black she knew he'd be alright.

She only wanted him to be alright.


End file.
